


Fire Down Below

by Miah_Arthur



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Bones, Cave-In, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Lambert Has Feelings (The Witcher), M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/pseuds/Miah_Arthur
Summary: It was supposed to be an easy task, an excuse to get Lambert out of the keep for a few hours before he drove them all mad. But nothing with Lambert is ever easy.
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 101





	1. Careless Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This is set in 1225, so 15 years before Geralt and Jaskier meet. I'm using 1214 as the year for the massacre of Kaer Morhen. I'm calling Lambert's birth around 1195 and graduation to the path at 1212, and Eskel and Geralt's start on the path around 1175. 
> 
> The timeline in the books and games is a headache-inducing nightmare. What I'm using doesn't align with them, but they don't internally align, so after much agonizing, I decided to heck with it and made something up. At least it will be internally consistent within this story.
> 
> **Thank you to my betas: Hircine_Taoist and Maimat**

#  **Fire Down Below**

###  **Chapter One: Careless Mistake**

"Tell me again _why_ the old man insisted we do this?" Lambert complained.

Eskel didn't roll his eyes, but It was a near thing. "Because letting a nest get established is a bad idea. A couple of shots of igni while they’re dormant, problem solved." 

"Does he know how fucking cold it is out? We couldn't wait for a warmer day?"

"You mean you’d rather wait for spring, after those eggs hatch, and we have a far greater problem on our hands?"

They crossed the river and entered the old mine. It became infested every few years as the only place in the valley deep enough to allow insectoid creatures to overwinter. Eskel took off his mittens, scarf, and heavy cap and stuffed them into his pockets. 

"It's going to be dark in there—"

"Yeah, yeah, drink a Cat potion. I _know_."

Eskel glanced over at Lambert. He'd taken off his mittens and scarf, but left the hat in place, pulled low over his eyes, the flaps tied firmly under his chin. "You're still cold?"

"Because it's _cold_ , Eskel."

He reminded himself to take a deep breath and be patient. This time of year was tough with them all trapped inside the keep for days on end by the ice and blizzards. The animals inside the vestibule permeated the air with dust, hay, the stink of dung—especially the goats'—adding to the unpleasant, trapped atmosphere. 

He drank his vial of Cat and walked further into the mines. 

A thump and clatter rang behind him.

"Fuck! What's the rush. Give the potion a chance to kick in."

"We're fifteen feet in; don't even need it yet."

"Says you. Give it a minute."

"So you walked into a wall, huh?"

"Shut up."

"Might need to get your eyes checked. Vesemir should have some magnifying glass—" A rock bounced off his shoulder, and he laughed. "Ready?"

Instead of answering, Lambert shoved past him, muttering curses. The deeper they went, the thicker the air became with the musty, rank odor of nesting arachas. Foul-smelling sticky droppings and desiccated cocoons crunched underfoot. 

Lambert dropped back, guarding one side. The arachas they'd spotted in the fall was young, driven out of prime lands into their valley with its frigid winter, and it _should be_ dead, or at least torpid. They moved cautiously in case 'should be' wasn't. 

"So nice of Geralt and Vesemir to give us the job where we have to freeze our asses off just to wade through spider shit."

"You demanded to get out of the keep," Eskel reminded him.

"Yeah, out of the keep. As in the courtyard. Get some fucking fresh air. There's not a lot of fresh air going on here."

A chittering from the next chamber silenced them. It wasn't dead. They drew their sword and stalked toward the beast together. 

The fight — if you could even justify calling it that — didn't last long. The arachas moved sluggishly, not even managing to stand before they'd killed it. 

"You going to take a trophy of your mighty victory?" Eskel teased as Lambert wiped his sword down. 

"Fuck you." Lambert stalked off to the other side of the chamber and cast igni at the first cluster of egg sacs. 

Eskel sheathed his sword and set to work on his side of the chamber. By the time he'd finished—scorching more than his share—the strain of casting so many times in a row had begun to pull on him. He had more in him, but his reserves were dwindling. Lambert was nowhere to be seen. "Hey! Where'd you go?"

"In here." 

His voice came from a gash in the wall. It was a tight squeeze to get through, but another chamber opened up on the other side. The floor slanted down, and more egg sacs lined the wall at the lowest end of the room. 

"How the fuck did it even get in here to lay those?" Lambert asked. "I've looked. I don't see any other way in."

"It wasn't big. Maybe it squeezed in." 

"Must have." He prowled over to the wall near the entrance. "You going to igni those or what?"

"You didn't do near half the main horde."

"And you're the one always bragging about the strength of your casting. Not going limp dick, are you?"

"What I'm hearing is you can't cast another." 

Eskel threw a ball of flame at the eggs. He was showing off, goading Lambert, and not paying attention. 

The explosion took him unawares, but throwing the quen sign was so ingrained that his shield took the brunt of the landing and shunted the rubble from him. Because Signs were his thing. Because he had more magic within him than the others for the medallion to draw on. Lambert didn't. They both knew the reason he hadn't blasted those sacs. Eskel climbed to his feet with rubble still rolling around him. 

"Lambert?"

A mountain of rubble stood where he'd last seen Lambert. 

"Fuck. Lambert!" He forced himself to stop. Remain perfectly motionless. Hold his breath and wait. Strained breaths and a rapid heartbeat fixed Lambert's position within the rubble. Eskel threw himself into frantic digging. 

The rubble was unstable and slid with his efforts. It might shift and bring down the rest of the ceiling. He didn't care. His fingers tingled from the sensation of magic. Lambert had a shield up. Thank Melitele. 

The tingle of magic vanished, and the pile over Lambert settled half a handbreadth.

"Damn it, Lambert. You couldn't hold on another few heartbeats?" He redoubled his efforts, and after only a few moments, brushed the soft fur of Lambert's coat. 

A single heavy stone lay over his chest. Eskel heaved it away and threw himself over Lambert, casting a quen around the both of them at the same time. He held it against the onslaught of smaller stones and dirt, removing it set off. Lambert's breaths were tiny puffs of warmth in his ear, and he'd never been happier about Lambert being so close. 

The debris settled, and Eskel let his shield down. The sensation of being drained spread within him neared his core. Lambert's eyes were closed, and his breathing shallow. "Lambert." Eskel shook his shoulder. "Lambert!"

Lambert's eyes fluttered open, and he sucked in a deeper breath. He groaned. "Fuck was that?"

"Explosion. Caused a cave in."

He coughed and groaned some more, pressing one arm to his ribs. "You blow us up, and I get buried. How's that for justice in the world?"

"We're witchers. You should be used to it by now." Lambert hadn't moved beyond coughing and holding his ribs, and Eskel was getting worried. "Come on, Let's get you out of there before more of it decides to slide."

"Yeah. That's-that's a good plan." He shifted, trying to roll over, but fell back cursing. The curses trailed off into short, panting breaths, and his hand shot out to grip Eskel's arm. His fingers clenched and unclenched in time with his breaths. 

Eskel pried Lambert's hand off his arm and held it in his own. Lambert might be the youngest witcher at Kaer Morhen, but he was a tough bastard. Maybe that's _why_ he was such a tough bastard. Something was very wrong. Lambert still lay buried past his waist. Eskel focused on scent. Traces of gas. If he'd been paying attention instead of needling Lambert… Gas pockets were always a problem in the deeper spaces in the valley. The sulfuric scent of burning egg sacs. The acid of the arachas' blood. Dust. Pain and fear flowed off Lambert, choking the air, but only the slightest hint of copper and the twist of mutations. 

"Where are you injured?"

"Legs," he ground out. 

"Hang on. I'll get you out."

"B-better. Can't wait—" He took a deeper breath and the tension in his upper body uncoiled. "—to tell everyone you blew me up. Good-good for guilting you into-into chores."

Lambert hadn't released Eskel's hand, and guilt panged in Eskel at pulling free. Lambert was breathing, and he wanted to keep it that way, so he'd have to move slower, be more cautious about setting off another cascade. He brushed the small stones away from Lambert's waist. What he'd taken for a large mound of small to medium rocks was a thin layer of loose rubble concealing a large slab of the wall pinning Lambert's legs. He'd never be able to shift this. 

"You never do anything by halves, do you?"

"Not the way I operate." He shifted and panted through the pain. "I'm not getting out of here, am I?"

Eskel patted him on the shoulder. "I always assumed you'd meet your match in some backwater tavern after insulting someone meaner than you."

He chuckled and groaned. "It hurts to laugh, asshole."

"I'll dig out what I can. Vesemir and Geralt will notice when we don’t return, they’ll come looking. We’ll get you out of this."

Voice low, the tone he took on when imitating Vesemir, Lambert said, "Now Eskel, the first step in building a tomb is to make sure the walls collapse—"

Eskel didn't pause in his work. "That's the worst Vesemir I've ever heard, and I've heard _Geralt's_."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. How drunk did you have to get him before you managed that?"

The pile was loose, looming too precariously above Lambert's head to risk uncovering him directly. Eskel moved around to the corner he'd landed in. The mass trailed off to clear space that way. The best bet would be digging on this side, hopefully directing any collapses toward him until it was low enough he could clear some weight from Lambert safely. 

"How drunk?" Lambert pressed.

Right. Keep him talking. That was a basic tenet for treating the injured. "Drunker than you've seen him."

"Figured that, dickhead." He coughed some more and groaned. 

Fuck, he was getting ahead of himself. He should have checked for injuries beyond sniffing for blood. "Let me take a look at you."

"This what it took to get you to feel me up? Should have had you crash a cave on me years ago."

Eskel rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've been plotting to have my way with you for a decade." He opened the front of Lambert's coat and checked his stomach and chest. 

"Fuck off with that." He waved Eskel's hands away from his chest. "You already knew it got my ribs."

"What and deny me the fruits of my plot? None displaced. What'd you bring with you?"

"Swallow, Cat, Oriole. The vials broke."

Eskel extracted the broken vials from the pockets before fixing Lambert's clothes. His stomach and chest had taken hard hits. Better safe than sorry. He uncorked his own vial of _Swallow_. "Take this."

Lambert didn't argue. That compliance was terrifying, but he perked up and resumed his imitation of Vesemir. Eskel kept him talking, trading stories, and barbs. Their absence at the evening meal would be noticed. Soon. He kept telling himself that as he worked. His _Cat_ wore off, and he took another dose. Lambert didn't complain about not being able to see, and he said nothing about the pain he must be in. He _did_ complain about the cold, but eventually gave up when he ran out of creative curses. 

The gaps in their conversation grew longer. Eskel wasn’t used to talking this much. His fingers were scraped raw, his hands and arms and back ached, but the more he got done now, the faster they would get Lambert free when the others turned up. He'd made a considerable dent in the pile, settled into the rhythm of the work when he remembered he should be keeping Lambert talking and said something stupid about getting drunk, and Lambert didn't answer. 

Eskel stopped working and wiped the sweat from his eyes. "Lambert?" He strained to hear Lambert's heartbeat.

"What d'you want? Middle of th'night. Go back t'sleep." 

Shit. How long had he worked before realizing they'd stopped talking? Lambert was cool to the touch, pale, shivering. "Hey, wake up."

"Fuck off."

"Not a chance. Sit up. Get your blood moving." Eskel pulled Lambert up, expecting him to howl over the movement. He didn't. "You being all stoic all of a sudden?"

It took too long for him to answer. "No." 

"This doesn't hurt?"

"Stopped hurting a while ago," Lambert mumbled.

Eskel lowered him back to the pile and retrieved his own coat. He'd nearly cleared enough rock to reach the place the entrance had been. The others would be here soon. Lambert was young, angry, and an annoying prick, but he'd survived the massacre. He'd survived over a decade since on The Path. Eskel wasn't letting him die over a stupid, careless moment on a simple clean-up. He took his shirt off. 

"Putting on a show?"

"You're cold." Eskel put his coat back on, minus his shirt. 

"Tired. Not cold. How much longer?"

Eskel worked Lambert's coat open. Lambert swiped at his hands. Uncoordinated. Ineffective. _Fuck. _"Be still."__

__"Get off me."_ _

__"What? Did you forget? We’re well-nigh courting." He sat Lambert up and took his shirt and coat off before sliding in behind him, sitting in the meditation pose. He snugged Lambert's coat over him like a blanket._ _

__Lambert allowed himself to be pulled in tight, his bare back to Eskel's stomach. His head rested against Eskel's chest. He grumbled, "Didn't even buy me dinner first."_ _

__"Yeah, yeah," Eskel said. "Give me your hands."  
_ _


	2. I Thought You Knew

###  **Chapter Two: I Thought You Knew**

They sat like that—hands held, pressed together, and wrapped under the coats for a long time. The second dose of Cat wore off, and Eskel didn't have another. Time stretched in the dark. Scraping, settling, shifting sounds reverberated through the chamber. An eerie backdrop to the blackness around them. Lambert's heart thumped too fast against his chest, marking a counter rhythm to his own.

Lambert drifted even after he warmed up, exhausted by the pain and Swallow-induced healing. "I hate the dark," he said when he woke from a doze. Eskel massaged his hands, and Lambert huffed. 

"Keep going." Lambert nudged Eskel when he stopped. "It’s nice," he murmured, his words slurred. "Thanks. For staying." His chin dropped to his chest as he fell asleep. 

Eskel squeezed him tighter. They'd be here soon, but doubt crept into his mind. The way Lambert had faded worried him. "Don't give up on me," Eskel whispered. Lambert didn't stir. "You're a prick, but I never meant anything like this to happen. There are too few of us as it is."

The next time Lambert woke, his voice was quiet, serious, but he spoke without slurring. "Don't leave me here to rot, or I swear I'll turn wraith and hunt your ass down."

"Since when have you been so interested in my ass?"

"Always...I thought you knew." 

The tone caught Eskel off guard; it lacked any of Lambert's acerbic mockery. He'd meant it as an opening for more off-color joking, a distraction from morbid thoughts. "I swear I won't leave you here. Full funeral pyre."

"You better. Serious about haunting you."

"Nah, we set you on fire, and you'll finally be out of excuses to complain about the cold. Your ghost'll be so surprised you'll move on."

He chuckled. "Don't count on it. I'm a stubborn asshole on the best of days."

"Admitting it is the first step toward changing it."

"Fuck that. More like the first step to—"

Sudden rumbling drowned out his words. Eskel threw up a quen shield, pushing all his remaining reserves into holding it as rocks and dirt pinged and bounced off it. The power keeping the stones at bay flickered, and he rose to one knee to lean forward to protect Lambert with his body as much as possible. His quen failed and rocks filled in the gap behind him, heavy against his back. 

"You're an idiot. Sh-should have just moved. No need for both of us to be stuck."

More rock shifted, but the sound was muffled, the rock tumbling down on the other side of the collapse into the main room. Light blazed into the chamber like staring at the sun after so long in the dark. 

"About time," Lambert called. 

"Lambert?" Geralt's gravelly tone was the finest music to Eskel's ears. 

"You seriously can't tell the two of us apart by voice?"

Eskel called out, "A slab of the wall came down on his legs. It's going to be hard to move, even working together."

"Fuck." Geralt’s voice drifted to them more faintly, relaying to Vesemir.

"No kidding." Lambert sagged against Eskel's hold. His breathing was more strained with them twisted like this. 

Geralt came back to the gap. "We'll have this cleared soon. Have you had water?"

"No."

"We'll be in soon."

"Careful. I can't shield again."

It didn't take long. The gap widened, letting more light and fresher air in. Vesemir crawled through the opening. "What's the situation?"

Eskel filled him in as Vesemir dug around them, covering the incident and progress as tersely as he could, including the developing numbness.

"Has his breathing been this bad for long?"

"I can hear you, you know."

"Just since the last slide."

Lambert nodded.

"There. Shift over and slide out." Vesemir braced Lambert while Eskel freed himself and laid his coat over the rocks. 

Eskel bristled. He wanted to argue he was fine and didn't need coddling, but Vesemir looked far too serious to protest. Eskel squeezed Lambert's shoulder as he stood up. 

His knee crumpled under him, and Vesemir caught his arm, "Easy, you've been through quite the ordeal here. Take it slow." He held on until Eskel got his balance. "Go out there with Geralt, get some food and tea. Then help him."

He scrambled over the pile, tumbling down the other side after he squirmed through the narrow place. 

Geralt caught him. "Easy job, huh?"

"Shut up, Geralt."

"You hurt?"

"No."

Eskel ate one of the bread and meat bundles and drank a cup of the syrupy sweet tea in a rush while Geralt kept moving stone. "You were well prepared."

"You know Vesemir."

They widened the gap enough to move a man on a stretcher through the hole. Vesemir had helped Lambert back into his shirt and coat, and Lambert looked better, smiling, and less pale.

"When we lift the stone, I'll shield the debris off him. Eskel, pull him out while we brace it."

"And I'll just lay here and be moved like a piece of meat," Lambert said. 

They followed the plan, throwing all their combined strength into the lift. For one horrible moment, Eskel was afraid they weren't enough, but the slab finally budged. Once it started moving, the going was easier. After several inches, the debris started shifting, sizzling on Vesemir's shield. 

"Get him out," Vesemir growled. He and Geralt braced to keep the slab lifted as Eskel scrambled to drag Lambert free. 

"He's clear," Geralt said. 

The two of them let the slab fall. The boom reverberated off the walls of the chamber, seeming almost as loud as the initial explosion. "Geralt, help get him on the stretcher and clear of the pile before I release this shield."

Geralt took Lambert's feet, and they swung him onto the stretcher. Lambert didn't react to Geralt's grip on his ankles. Geralt and Eskel shared a look; he should have felt that. Vesemir dropped his quen shield with a grunt, and the debris rattled into the hollow where Lambert had lain. 

"Are they broken?" Geralt asked when the rocks quieted. 

Vesemir pushed Lambert's shoulders down. "Stay down, boy. We've got you." 

Lambert's heart raced, nearing human rates, and his eyes were too wide. He caught Eskel's hand. "Guess I'll have to rethink the haunting."

Vesemir ran his hands over Lambert's legs. 

"I can't feel that." His grip on Eskel's fingers tightened. "It's bad, isn't it? What—"

"We'll know more when we get to the keep," Vesemir said. "The cold is in our favor here. Should give us more time. Drink this." Vesemir held out a vial of Golden Oriole.

"Right." Lambert drank the potion. "Right, so I get to watch you all work for a change. Get a move on, already."

The words were harsh as ever, but Eskel smelled the fear on him, heard it in his voice after listening to him so long in the dark. He patted Lambert's shoulder. "Planning the guilt-tripping so soon?"

"Are you k-kidding? I started planning it the second you blew me up!" The hitch in his voice was almost unnoticeable. The way Lambert grabbed Eskel’s hand as Geralt and Vesemir splinted his legs together was harder to miss. 

Eskel had to break the hold, to allow a blanket to be tucked in tight around him. Vesemir threaded a rope through eyes on the sides of the stretcher. He snugged the rope down. Even beyond the rock slide, hauling a man out on a stretcher wasn't an easy trek.

"Eskel stay with me," Vesemir said. "Geralt, go through to the other side."

The two of them moved the stretcher to the gap, and Vesemir held the distant end, while Eskel made sure he fit. "Close your eyes," he said before guiding the poles through. 

"I'm not an idiot," Lambert grumbled. 

"Could have fooled me," Geralt sniped. 

Vesemir gave him a Cat potion, and Eskel drank it. The couldn't risk igniting another unseen gas pocket with the torches on the walk out. 

"Great. I _love_ the dark," Lambert grumbled.

"Save your breath, boy." Vesemir said.

The path was steep through the first room on the way out, far steeper than he'd noticed on the way in. But the ledge that separated it from the next required ropes to avoid tilting the stretcher nearly vertical. They were strong and built for endurance, but Eskel was nearing the end of his after a day of shifting stones and using Signs. At the last ledge, the highest one, Geralt had to pull him over the edge. 

Eskel sat in a daze, catching his breath until Geralt smack his shoulder. "Come on. We’re only carrying one damsel in distress out of here." 

"You want to trade?" Lambert asked.

"No. Let's go."


	3. A Good Sign

###  **Chapter Three: A Good Sign**

The trip back to Kaer Morhen blurred for Eskel. They carried the stretcher across the river, trudged up the steep path. He remembered being ordered to walk alongside, to hold on to the edge. 

None of them had brought horses. It was too cold for the horses. They made it inside, and Vesemir ordered them into the kitchen. The fire had been built up before they left. The warmth in the room hurt after the cold. Eskel couldn't shake it off to make himself useful. He couldn't think. He followed Vesemir's orders, but he shouldn't be taking up the old man's time to be issued orders. The three of them stripped and redressed in clothes hot from the room. Vesemir pushed Eskel into a seat near the heat and put a bowl of soup in his hands. 

He tried to get back to his feet. "I need to—"

"To sit down and let me focus on the boy."

Eskel dropped back into the chair and watched, miserable and aching to do more. Geralt and Vesemir stripped Lambert's upper body, tucked heated stones against his armpits, and wrapped him in warmed blankets. He gritted his teeth, hissing in breaths as their movements shifted his legs. 

"Feeling is coming back?" Vesemir tapped him on the cheek and repeated the question. 

Lambert stared at him blankly for a long moment before he nodded. "What happened?"

"Vesemir?" Geralt asked. 

"A lot it could be," he said. He opened his storage chest and pulled vials out. “Give him the Golden Oriole. Then the Swallow and Black Dragon."

"What are you doing?" Lambert struggled against the blanket, as Geralt propped him against his chest. "I don't—Get off me!"

Eskel chugged the remaining soup, ignoring the slight burn. He'd followed directions, and he wasn't sitting this out. He stepped up to the bed and touched Lambert's shoulder. "Drink the potion, jackass." 

"Es-Eskel?" Lambert focused on him blearily. "Yeah, That's good." He drank it. 

Vesemir snorted. "Fine. Switch with Geralt."

Eskel slid in behind Lambert, and Geralt moved to help Vesemir. 

"What…" He shook his head. "Not haunting…" He gasped, and his eyes fluttered closed. 

"Keep an ear on his heart, Eskel."

"What's happening?" Geralt asked. 

Vesemir cut through the laces on Lambert's boots, splaying them open and gently working his feet free as he spoke. "It’s a crushing injury. Muscle started dying. Now the toxins from that are washing through him. Give the Oriole time." 

Vesemir cut Lambert's pants. His left leg was leg twisted midway down his calf and was so swollen from his thigh down that the pants leg burst ahead of Vesemir's knife. The right was pale and mottled with purple spots. Vesemir's lips thinned, and he turned, hiding his face as he finished peeling away the clothes. Lambert's heart rate settled into a slower, steadier rhythm, too fast for a witcher, but better. 

"Give him the Dragon as soon as he wakes. Geralt fetch the splinting supplies." Vesemir pressed his fingers to pulse points down Lambert's right leg while Geralt was gone. 

His expression only grew grimmer. He tapped Lambert's cheek. 

"Wha—fuck! I can feel it now. Oh gods, I really feel it." 

"Focus, boy. Do you feel this?" Vesemir brushed his fingers over Lambert's right toes. 

"No!" The rising pitch in his voice awoke Eskel's protective instincts, and he stroked Lambert's arm. Lambert cleared his throat. "No."

"This?" 

"Fuck! Yes!" His foot jerked out of Vesemir's grip. 

"Give him the Dragon."

"No way. Not until you tell me what's going on. I'm not going to be the asshole hopping around on one leg. You might as well kill me now."

"You have some sensation in it," Vesemir said. "That's a good sign. Now take the damn potion."

The Dragon potion made Lambert too quiet, too pliable for Eskel's comfort, but it was better than him being in so much pain. His head lolled against Eskel's shoulder, his eyes half-lidded as Vesemir and Geralt set the broken bones. The right leg… Eskel had never seen a femur set before, and he hoped never to see it again. The lower left leg had taken the brunt of the initial impact. Even for a witcher, healing that many broken bones would take time and some luck to avoid ongoing pain. Even under the influence of the Dragon, Lambert struggled feebly and moaned as they drew the bone back into alignment. 

A red flush swept down his leg once the bone was in place. "Thank Melitele," Vesemir muttered. "Eskel, listen for his heart. First sign of a change, give him another Oriole. We'll work as fast as we can."

Eskel gave him the Oriole when his heart rate spiked and dug one of his hands free of the blankets, holding it as Lambert quivered and panted through the pain. He didn't speak. 

The absence of cutting remarks squeezed something in Eskel's chest, and he muttered a litany of reassurances that Lambert would probably punch him for on a normal day. "It won't be long before I can give you the Dragon potion. Pain is good right now. The blood is flowing. Your leg will be fine. Almost there. The Oriole is working. Think of it this way; you don't have to feed the goats for weeks. I picked up a new book of poetry in Cidaris. I'll read it to you while you're stuck in bed."

"You like b-boring st-stuff."

"You just now figuring that out? Took you long enough."

A chuckle tried to escape but turned into a sob. Lambert bit the sound back. 

"He's steady now. Ready for the Dragon?"

Vesemir pressed his hand to Lambert's chest and closed his eyes, focusing. At last, Vesemir nodded and handed Eskel another vial of Dragon to give to Lambert. It didn't take long. Lambert sagged against Eskel with a sigh, his grip on Eskel's hand going limp. 

"A dose like that'll keep him down for half a day. Get in bed. I'll watch over him."

"I—"

"If that's not, 'Yes, Vesemir,' I have a sleeping draught here."

Eskel bit back his protest. It'd been years since the old man had used that tone on him, but it sent him squarely back to his training days. "Yes, Vesemir." 

Vesemir stopped him with a grip on his shoulder as he turned to the second bed Geralt had dragged into the kitchen. "You did well."

"I caused the explosion. I wasn't paying attention. Showing off. If I'd paid attention—"

"Mistakes happen. You did everything right after."

Eskel ducked his head. He couldn't take praise for anything to do with this. 

Vesemir sighed and patted his shoulder. "Bed."

Eskel crawled under the blankets and lay awake, watching Vesemir and Lambert. He startled when the bed dipped. 

Geralt scooted in behind him, pressing tight against his back and wrapped one arm over his chest. "I've got you."

Eskel relaxed into the warmth and firm hold. Things had never been sexual between him and Geralt. They'd held each other through the worst times for too many years before they knew what sex was to change when they were old enough. It was good to have someone to rely on.

And Eskel's chest hurt for Lambert anew. He'd had a friend like Geralt. Lambert hadn't even been twenty when the massacre happened. Of all the bodies that Vesemir insisted on leaving lying as warning or penance—Eskel never fully understood the motivation—Lambert had dragged Hywel's corpse from the pile and burned it. It had been gruesome work, the weather warm enough at the time of the massacre for the bodies to bloat and begin to decompose, but Lambert had gone through the bodies with grim determination, yelled until he was hoarse. Eskel and Geralt defied Vesemir to help him build a pyre. He didn't speak another word the entire winter. 

They'd all been little more than ghosts in the keep that winter. Vesemir laid up recovering. There'd been good reason he'd been miscounted among the dead by the mob. If Geralt hadn't returned so soon after, the old man wouldn't be here today. There'd been ten of them left then. Berengar, Evory, Jared, Cyryl, Walter, Tymon. Some of them showed up some winters. It drove Eskel mad, not knowing if they lived year to year. They hadn't been sure of Evory's death for three years. Cyryl for two. Walter and Tymon had been missing for four and five years now. 

Eskel hadn't expected Lambert to survive to return the first winter. He'd lost weight, looked like a shadow of the young man who'd arrived in the fall, and yet he showed up winter after winter, sour and angry and prickly. Stubborn. Eskel had never looked past it to see how alone Lambert had been for so long. Fuck. Eskel wanted to hold him, share what he and Geralt had. 

"You're thinking too loud," Geralt murmured. He rubbed circles over Eskel's sternum, a soothing motion reinforced over decades, and Eskel quickly dropped into sleep. 

When he woke, Geralt was sitting beside Lambert. Vesemir snored on a pallet near the fire. Eskel stretched. The drained emptiness of casting too many Signs lurked within him. His muscles ached, and lethargy pulled on him. He sat up anyway and stretched. 

"How is he?"

"Still riding the Dragon."

"And?"

"It's not going to be a pleasant winter for him. Vesemir said we can’t move him out of here for a week, but it'll be a lot longer than that before he's walking. Probably drive us all crazy by then."

Eskel looked down at him. He was pale, his expression pinched with pain even under the influence of the potion, and Eskel could only picture holding him in the dark. 

"Can you get him to drink? Stubborn bastard won't take anything I give him."

He couldn't sit up, the splint wrapped around his waist, immobilizing his hips. Eskel took Geralt's place beside the bed. "Hey, you have to drink something." He shook Lambert's shoulder. 

"F'ck off, G'rlt."

"Don't be an ass."

Lambert's eyes drifted halfway open. "Eskel?"

"What you can't tell us apart by voice?" Eskel slid an arm under Lambert's shoulders and lifted him.

"Dick head."

"Drink the water."

"Fine."

He settled Lambert back against the pillows, intending to stand up and go about his morning routine, but Lambert grasped his hand and looked up at him with yearning. If he were sober, Lambert would never have allowed that to show, to let anyone see him _need_ someone. Eskel couldn’t rebuff the overture. He sat back down in the chair.

The pattern stuck. For the next week, Lambert alternated between antagonizing everyone and reaching out to Eskel with pleading looks. His left leg was healing straight, a relief since broken tibias tended to heal with the bones rotated. Only a few degrees of rotation would interfere with balance and the natural spring in the step, making walking, running, _fighting for his life_ a little slower. Eskel obsessively checked the alignment while Lambert was sleeping. 

On the right side, his femur was mending surprisingly well, but the extended lack of blood flow had caused devastating side effects. The second day, the swelling in his calf grew so severe they'd had to slice into the muscle to relieve the pressure and prevent more muscle death. The wounds did their job. The swelling went down, but the procedure was yet another drain on his energy and healing, one more pain to live with. Feeling and movement hadn't returned to the outer side of his foot and lower calf. Vesemir assured them that, as a witcher, the damage would heal eventually. 

Vesemir took the splints off, cleaned him up, and moved his joints through gentle movements. Eskel was glad that Lambert had cursed him and Geralt out of the kitchen. When Vesemir called him back, Lambert's ears were red with embarrassment, and he refused to look directly at any of them, but he smelled better. The splint for his right leg no longer restrained his hips. 

The move up to his room went smoothly despite his complaints and general foul mood. They left him propped in his bed, swearing at them to leave him the fuck alone. Vesemir disappeared toward the alchemy lab, and Eskel headed back to the kitchen. He started gathering items onto a tray to take to Lambert. 

Geralt leaned on the door frame and watched him for a minute before speaking. "It could have happened to any of us, Eskel."

"I know."

"Feeling guilty about it isn't good for anyone."

Eskel slapped a jar onto the counter too hard, and the thunk echoed. He froze, waiting for cracks to appear. Geralt hugged him from behind, and Eskel leaned into it. "I'm not." 

Geralt squeezed him. 

"Fine. I am, but that's not what this is."

"So, what is it?"

"This."

"What?"

Eskel twisted out of Geralt's grip. "This. Between us. We can talk. Get a hug when we're having a bad day. Share a bed to hold the nightmares at bay. And we need that."

Geralt nodded. 

"We've been on The Path for fifty years, and we still need this. Lambert's been alone since the massacre. Only two years on The Path when he lost Hywel."

"He won't take pity."

Eskel started to deny it but stopped to think. Was he doing this out of pity? He remembered holding Lambert in the dark, listening to the rock settle, and his too fast breaths. The way Lambert had reached for his hands with fear in the air, with longing in his eyes, the murmured 'Always.' that shifted the lewd remarks from defensive teasing to flirting… "No, it's not pity."

"Hmm. Tread carefully." 

"Obviously."

Geralt punched Eskel's shoulder. "If I have to live with a feud, I'm freezing your braies."

"You've lost the last three prank wars."

Vesemir banged the door open. "Prank war, eh?" He scratched his beard. "The latrines have been needing to be mucked out…"

"No prank wars!" Geralt and Eskel chorused

Geralt escaped muttering about needing to clean the armory. Eskel piled things on his tray under Vesemir's eagle gaze. 

"Remember who has the advantage," Vesemir said as Eskel walked out. 

Eskel trekked up the stairs, his mind swirling with what Vesemir and Geralt had said. He didn't know yet what he wanted, whether Lambert would admit to wanting anything while sober. What if it had only been convenient? Lambert had needed comfort and had already lost his dignity in front of Eskel. It didn't mean anything. He hesitated in front of Lambert's door, doubt wracking him. Fuck this. He squared his shoulders. Lambert needed someone right now for basic assistance, that was a fact.

He knocked on the door, heard a half-hearted, "Go away." and pushed the door open. 

Lambert glared at him, arms crossed. "Drew the short stick?"

"Nah, I couldn't get enough of your shining personality."

He grinned and shifted to sit a little straighter. "Pull up a seat. I'm always ready to hurl insults."

Eskel settled in with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [ Tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/miahclone/)for Witcher fic-recs, snippets, occasional prompt fills, and just because I love talking about these awesome characters.  
> If you enjoyed my writing and would like to reblog this story, you can [ do so here!](https://miahclone.tumblr.com/post/631554645520711680/fire-down-below-summary-it-was-supposed-to/)


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